


Usually My Job

by Lost_Stories



Series: Takarazuka Prompt Series [1]
Category: Don Juan - Gray, Don Juan - Takarazuka Revue, Takarazuka Revue Musicals
Genre: Gen, Juan is a trashbag but kinda a cute one, Juan owns a motorcycle, M/M, Modern AU, Takarazuka Guess the Author Round 1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:07:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24164836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lost_Stories/pseuds/Lost_Stories
Summary: Juan get's a phonecall from the local police station that he did not expect
Relationships: Don Juan/Don Carlos, if you squint
Series: Takarazuka Prompt Series [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1753291
Comments: 1
Kudos: 7
Collections: Guess the Author round One





	Usually My Job

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Takarazuka Guess the Author game prompt "Please come bail me out"

“I need you to bail me out.”

Juan took the phone from his ear and stared at it for a moment, before hitting speaker. Did he hear that correctly? Had he had a _stroke_?

“I’m going to need you to repeat that,” he said, blinking blankly at the screen of his phone as though that would somehow make sense of the situation.

The line went silent for a moment and for a second Juan thought he’d been hung up on. Then, Carlos’ exasperated voice came crackling back to life.

“You heard me the first time, Juan. Please… no jokes… just… come help me?”

And how could he say no when Carlos asked him anything in _that_ particular tone? He hoisted himself off the couch, carefully depositing Mittens on the warm pillow. She glared at him, tail swishing, but quickly curled up and started carefully licking a paw, ignoring him completely. He snorted.

“Well I’m sorry your highness, but it seems your owner got himself into a bit of a pickle. Normally my job, but there you have it,” he said, as though it was going to make a difference.

Mittens huffed. Cats. No better than humans really. But at least they were quieter.

  
One long chat with a police officer about how ridiculous an idea it was that Carlos could have stolen something and about a half an hour later, and Carlos was next to him outside the police station, shoulders hunched as though that might somehow make him _not_ tower over everyone around them. He looked the very picture of misery, hands stuffed deep in his pockets and eyes firmly down on the pavement, so Juan just handed him a helmet and made him get on the back of his motorcycle. When they got back to the apartment they had shared since college, Carlos immediately picked up Mittens, slunk away to his room, and locked the door. Rude.

It wasn’t until later that night, when after much cajoling Juan had managed to coax Carlos out of his room (it had helped Mittens had decided she was hungry), and they were curled up on the couch watching a stupid Netflix show, that Juan finally got the story out of him. Raphael, the little punk, had _apparently_ thought it was funny to nick something and hide it in Carlos’ bag, and then set security on him. And Carlos, sweet, naïve, _stupid_ Carlos, had let them look in his bag without issue, thinking nothing of it. When he’d realised his mistake Raphael was long gone and he was being taken to the police station. As Carlos curled against him, Mittens held securely in his arms, and mumbled something about how he had a _record_ now, Juan felt a burst of rage shoot through him. He gently pulled Carlos closer, carding through his hair and making a soft soothing sound, and decided that he owed Raphael a punch in the face. Or maybe two.

~

Fin


End file.
